


Spinning 'Round (like two sides of a coin)

by TheBrightestNight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical The Stranger Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical Violence, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Platonic Soulmates, References to Depression, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27835756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrightestNight/pseuds/TheBrightestNight
Summary: Time is a construct. What we know as past, present, and future all exist at the same time,ad infinitum. • Guided not by time but a spoken word poem, follow along the lives of two intertwined souls, Timothy Stoker and Sasha James. The story of their friendship from the time they meet, through growing apart, to when they fall back together, and through their time working at the Magnus Institute. Witness slices of their lives—not memories, memories would suggest the past—as they exist,ad infinitum, even at The End.
Relationships: Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11
Collections: TMA Big Bang 2020





	1. we merely coexisted. almost met, but always missed it

**Author's Note:**

> ~~first if you've come from my eyes that bind fic i wanna say i'm really sorry bc i actually Cannot work on two projects at once, even tho i tried, and then when i finished this i hit burnout, then phd apps, and i'm also modding for two zines. i haven't given up on the fic, it's just on a semi-hiatus~~
> 
> hello! this was created for the TMA Big Bang!
> 
> [CLICK HERE](https://awayofunderstandingit.tumblr.com/post/636443092753448960/one-shot-spinning-round-like-two-sides-of-a) to be taken to a masterlist of all the art made for this fic! **additionally** , if you click on the images in the fic, it will take you straight to the post on Tumblr, so you can like and reblog! **note: not all the pieces are featured within the text; that's what the "second chapter" is for so be sure to check them out when you're finished reading!**
> 
> there should be an image ID in the alt text for all your screen-reader needs. if there is not, or it's wonky, please let me know and i'll do my best to fix it as soon as possible. otherwise, click on the image to be taken to the post, which will have the image ID as well.
> 
> i want to thank all the amazing artists, who made absolutely amazing pieces:  
> Cai [@bisexualoftheblade](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/)  
> Luci [@lucifers-favorit-sweater](https://lucifers-favorite-sweater.tumblr.com/)  
> Moss [@marimocrab](https://marimocrab.tumblr.com/)  
> Stowaway :O Eben (link is below)
> 
> and of course, thank my wonderful betas, who not only helped me with smaller grammar and sentence stuff, but also helped me brainstorm many of the vignette ideas:  
> Ren [@dont-taunt-the-octopus](https://dont-taunt-the-octopus.tumblr.com/)  
> Eben [@ebenrosetaylor](https://ebenrosetaylor.tumblr.com/)
> 
> all you guys are true MVPs. thank you guys so much!
> 
> finally, this fic was inspired by a spoken word poem (as the summary says lol) called "[AN ORIGIN STORY](https://youtu.be/esgfG3BoAPc)" by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye. i _highly_ recommend you go listen to it first (linked above). it starts at around 1:30. **note:** i have taken out lines that are more specific to _their_ story.
> 
> buckle in, and i hope you enjoy!

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442347426742272/here-is-my-title-card-for)

1.  
 _it started with a sweater_

Sasha waited nervously backstage, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her breath fast and broken. She tried not to move around too much, seeing as it was a little cramped. Her fellow classmates from her previous school had gotten after her when she'd bounced her leg or drummed her fingers against her thigh. She couldn't help it! But their complaints had made her self-conscious.

Then she spotted the other new kid, his bright pink and green patterned shirt standing out starkly against the cooler toned clothes of the other kids around him.

2.  
 _I was looking fly  
first day of college orientation as a freshman  
and I'm the type of guy who's always trying to make a good impression_

Tim was new to this town. New to this school. But he was excited for this talent show. Nervous, for sure! But mostly excited. He hoped he'd be able to make friends this way. It seemed like a good opener. Not that he had trouble making friends, seeing as he had a bubbly personality.

Still, he knew his parents were concerned about the move, and the new school. As most kids are, Tim was resistant to the move because that meant leaving the place he called home behind, along with all his friends. It was scary and unfair.

So when he'd heard that the school had planned a talent show (among other bonding rituals the kids could participate in, if anyone had stage fright), he decided to sign up immediately. (It also gave him an excuse to wear one of his favorite shirts without getting scolded for not wearing the school's uniform.)

3.  
 _he looked like a tool_

She wasn't impressed. She thought his shirt was probably a little too bright. And the patterns were kind of giving her a headache. (It could have also been her nerves about going up on stage but she liked the shirt explanation better.) Why had she picked the talent show again? She was nervous, but she figured it was the usual nerves everyone experienced before going on stage.

Today felt a little different.

It had to be the shirt.

4.  
 _and it's the first week of school  
so I've got people to meet, and things to try  
I don't have time to waste on this guy  
loitering backstage at a talent show_

It _was_ the shirt, she decided.

Being the new kid here, she wanted to make friends. That's why she'd chosen the talent show because she thought it was a good way to meet new people who liked the same things she liked. She'd tried to start a few conversations but it was clear there were already tight groups. It didn't inspire confidence in making new friends _right now_ , but hopefully she could find the right person that would open the door to the new group.

Besides, even if she couldn't find someone with the talent show, there were a lot of other events this week she could participate in and hopefully find a friend. Not to mention, she'd surely meet people in class.

Her eyes kept straying back to the boy with the bright shirt, though. She couldn't help it. Despite the headache it gave her, it was also the only exciting thing to look at backstage.

Which was a _super_ annoying fact to her.

5.  
 _so I'm stuck waiting backstage and I notice this girl_

Tim's shirt had started a few conversations. They did lead to some invites to lunch tables, which Tim was looking forward to.

As they waited longer backstage than he was anticipating, as the conversation he was in died out, and they turned to the people they'd been friends with for longer, Tim felt his nerves start to set in without a distraction.

That's when he spotted a girl, pressed up against the wall, looking around a little like he was. She shifted from foot to foot and played with the hem of her shirt. No one was talking to her. That meant one of two things: she didn't have friends or she was new, too.

Putting on his trademark grin, he began to make his way over to her.

6.  
 _and he walks over, stupid sweater and all  
there was nowhere to run  
backstage was too small_

Sasha froze as the boy with the loud shirt began to approach her. She watched from the corners of her eyes, hoping he wasn't coming toward her, _specifically_ , just someone within her vicinity.

When she realized that, no, he was, indeed, making a B-line toward her, she tried to find a way out. A gap in a group of people, or maybe someone she could start a conversation with.

No dice!

Sasha silently cursed to herself as the boy got ever closer.

7.  
 _I'm so nervous about going onstage, that I decide to strike up a conversation_

"Hi!" Tim greeted cheerfully, leaving enough space between them to hold out his hand. "I'm Timothy Stoker, but you can call me Tim."

The girl gave him a tight smile and nodded, slowly taking his hand and shaking it once. "Sasha. Sasha James."

* * *

8.  
interlude: _we were built to fall apart_

It was easy to grow apart.

Tim and Sasha never considered just how easy it would be.

It wasn't like their platitudes of, "I'll be sure to keep in touch" and "We'll have to schedule regular phone calls" and "We should definitely get together once a month" were hollow. They meant to do it. But life had a way of changing even the best laid plans.

They figured, the type of friendship they'd had throughout the years, life would have to rip them apart forcefully. That they'd know it. That if they were going to stop being friends, then their relationship would go out with a bang.

But the bang they'd been waiting for never came. The way life pulled them apart was gradual, natural. Perhaps one might liken it to the tale of the boiling frog, whereby a frog is placed in tepid water that's gradually heated to its boiling point. But that would not be the right type of metaphor. It was more like how a tree grows, with branches separating but growing and reaching to the sky, to the sun, all the same.

That's not to say they _stopped_ being friends. Even when their phone calls stopped being hours long. Even when their weekly phone calls went from every week, to every two weeks, to every month, to every two months, to every—

Besides, a friend like that didn't just stop being a friend.

They still wrote the occasional letter to each other. Pages of updates since they didn't talk for months at a time. But even after a few years, 3 months became 4, then 6, then 8, then a year had already gone by. Eventually, they stopped sending each other letters, too.

It was not unexpected. They were on opposite sides of the country, studying completely different things. They made new friends, formed their own social circles. Got busy with classwork, with internships, uni jobs, job hunting, finding a way into their chosen careers.

* * *

9.  
 _what are the odds of finding someone—_

Tim had subsequently quit his job after what happened with his brother. He'd let his wrist heal and used his rainy day funds to purchase food and rent (he was still at Sasha's place but wanted to contribute). During that time, he'd also grieved and processed everything that had happened.

Once he had a job, he would move out, into a different flat he could afford on his new salary.

He'd told Sasha he was looking for jobs. He never got into specifics because he figured it was dreadfully boring, chatting about his job search. Besides, she already had to deal with enough at her own workplace—a place, she assumed, she had already mentioned to Tim by name. (She hadn't.)—which resulted in her simply saying "at work" or "my work" or any variations thereupon whenever she needed to complain about her shitty workday.

"I don't even know why I keep working there," she said, one night. "I mean, I guess I'm glad I finally got moved, so it's _a little_ better, but not by much."

"Jeez, Sash, I'm sorry," Tim sympathized. "Hopefully, we can start swapping stories soon."

Sasha brightened up at this. "Oh, so you've found a place?"

Tim nodded. "Yes, I have an interview at the end of the week."

"That's wonderful, Tim. I'm sure the interview will go well."

"Thanks, Sash."

He got the job.

So imagine their surprise when they both entered the Magnus Institute that following Monday. Through different doors. It was almost comical because they had entered through these different doors at the same time and began converging to the same spot—a spot that led into the Research department.

When they were close enough to notice each other, they froze, their jaws dropping.

"You didn't tell me you worked here!" they exclaimed at the same time, coming together, leaving a few feet between them.

"You didn't ask," Tim said as Sasha said, "I thought I told you already."

Tim half-scoffed, half-laughed. "You're telling me this _whole_ time, you were complaining about this place?"

Sasha laughed. "I was! Oh my god, how could we have missed that? I'm sure I told you where I worked."

Tim shook his head, an incredulous smile on his face. "You didn't. I would've remembered a name like the Magnus Institute." Tim paused, then muttered, "It also doesn't have the most glowing of reputations."

Sasha playfully shoved him. "Yet you still applied to work here."

Tim sobered, giving Sasha a half-smile. "I wanted to research more on the thing that killed Danny. I have his notes about the opera house as a starting point. I'm hoping this job will lead me to…well I guess I'm not entirely sure. But I want answers. And I figured here was the best place to find them."

Sasha nodded and gave him a knowing smile. "Of course."

Tim held the door to Research open and waved Sasha in, "After you."

"Newbies first," Sasha replied with a cheeky grin.

Tim snickered and shook his head but stepped over the threshold, holding the door open behind him for Sasha to follow.

"So, spill," Sasha said in a lower voice as they started down the hall side-by-side. "First impressions on Elias."

10.  
 _who can finish your sentences_

As Sasha waited for Tim to arrive at school that morning, she stood in the rain in her wellies, her umbrella shielding her from the downpour, and stared down at the puddle in front of her. Pondering. Watching as the rain disrupted the puddle with ripples.

She supposed she could've gone inside and waited at the door, warm and dry (well, _drier_ , anyway), but opted to wait outside. She liked the sound the rain made on her umbrella, the pitter-patter of it against the ground, the building behind her, the puddle in front of her. It was almost meditative.

Besides, Sasha was used to being "weird" amongst her peers. She had made other friends, of course, but it was a very small group. And she often chose to hang out with Tim the most. And though Tim had his own circle of friends, larger than her own, she found he often chose to hang out with her the most.

It was perplexing, to say the least. When he could have so easily ditched her to hang out with his friends, he hadn't. They had been damn-near inseparable since meeting backstage at that talent show years ago. (Wow, had they really been friends for that long?)

Sasha felt she knew him better than anyone. Felt so incredibly close to him it was odd…if only because she didn't even feel that close to her family. It could be because she was an only child but that didn't explain why she didn't feel this close to her parents, who had raised her!

There was a disconnect there that she couldn't quite pinpoint. And that wasn't to say she didn't love them. She loved them lots! But her relationship, her…love (would she call it that? It felt a little weird; too grown-up), with Tim just felt different. _Closer_.

"Sasha!" Tim called, his footsteps wet and squelchy on the pavement. Sasha started and looked up from the puddle she'd been staring at.

Tim grinned and chuckled as he came up to her, his own umbrella keeping him relatively dry in this downpour.

"Did you wait for me in the rain?" he asked.

Sasha shrugged. "I like the sound of the rain."

"But it's cold!" Tim complained as they headed toward the entrance. He looked over at her and his voice softened, "You didn't have to do that."

Sasha gave him a small smile. "I wanted to."

11.  
 _who will let you cut in line_

Tim's phone buzzed, indicating he'd gotten a text.

It was from Sasha: _rough nite, can u come over?_

Tim replied immediately: _of course_

He shoved his phone into his back pocket and finished the rest of his beer.

"Sorry, guys, I've got to go," he said to his coworkers from Research. They all groaned and booed.

"We just got here," one of them complained. "We haven't even gotten through a single pint. How can you be leaving already?"

Tim shrugged and grinned. "Sorry. We can always grab a pint tomorrow."

His coworkers rolled their eyes and muttered, "yeah, yeah, yeah" but left him to it. Tim threw down some quid for his drink, then a little extra and said, "Next round's on me."

That made his coworkers perk up. They raised their glasses to him: "Cheers!"

Tim gave them a final wave and headed out the door, to the nearest Tesco's, and bought Sasha's favorite alcohol, ice cream, and threw in some popcorn for good measure. On nights like these, she often liked to watch corny horror movies with truly terrible effects. Alcohol, ice cream, and popcorn were a must when watching terrible movies.

When he arrived at Sasha's flat, he texted Sasha, instead of knocking, not wanting to disturb her roommate. Sasha quietly opened the door, giving him a grateful look before she ushered him inside.

The walls weren't paper-thin, but they weren't thick either, so they had to keep their voices down. Sky wasn't asleep but they were in their room, working on homework. Keeping that in mind, Tim and Sasha wanted to respect that and so crept through the sitting room, down the hall, and into Sasha's bedroom as quietly as they could.

Tim went to grab utensils for the ice cream and warm up the popcorn as Sasha set up her room for a viewing party. She set her laptop at the end of the bed, and placed the movies in a pile on her nightstand. She grabbed extra pillows and blankets from her closet.

When Tim came back with spoons and a bowl of buttered popcorn, they settled into their spots on Sasha's bed and began the movie marathon.

Sasha glanced over at Tim as the opening credits rolled.

"Thanks, Tim," she whispered.

Tim "shhh"-ed her, pretending to be glued to the screen. Sasha threw a piece of popcorn at him. He looked over at her and grinned, picking up the fallen piece of popcorn, and saying, "Always, Sash," before popping the popcorn into his mouth and turning back to the screen.

* * *

12.  
interlude: _and fall back together_

Tim was moving to London. It was for his job at a major publishing house, but not his only reason. The other reason was Danny, who'd taken up urban exploration. And where better to take up something like that than London? Tim wanted to be near—at the very least, around—in case Danny ever needed anything. Not that Danny really ever did, but if he wanted a place to sleep or a warm meal, Tim made sure Danny knew his flat was always open to him.

Sasha was moving to London, as well. Having gotten her degree in Information Technology and with an interest in the paranormal, she'd been looking for a job that would converge on the two. That's when she'd found the Magnus Institute, located in Central London. Although, upon further research, it looked to have a very bad reputation among polite society, for Sasha it seemed just the thing. She also quite liked that it was in the heart of London. Easier to get lost in.

* * *

13.  
 _who knows not to just lend a hand  
or an ear  
when you need them to give you their spine_

The auditorium went dark.

Tim heard the sound of stone scraping against stone near him. He automatically turned his head to look, the beam of his headlamp falling onto the stone patron closest to him. It had turned its head, those two thumb imprints in its face fixated on him. Tim reflexively stepped back but was abruptly stopped by something cold and rough around his wrist. He shone his torch on his wrist to see a stone hand nearly enveloping his wrist. He hadn't heard that stone-against-stone noise, nor had he felt the cold, but giving his arm a gentle tug told him this stone patron had a very real grip on him.

The spotlight turned on again, a beam of sunlight shooting straight through the gloom. It had focused on the stage again but where Danny—or what had been parading as Danny—had stood, the clown crouched instead. Twisted head and eyes locked on Tim.

The stone-against-stone sounded again and Tim looked around, as his pulse quickened, to see all the stone audience members had turned their heads toward him.

The spotlight turned off. Tim tugged harder at his wrist.

The spotlight turned on. The clown had moved. It was now in the audience.

The spotlight turned off. Tim tugged harder, twisting his wrist, feeling the stone scrape against his skin.

The spotlight turned on. The clown was getting closer.

The spotlight turned off. Tim tried to kick at the wrist of the stone patron but it didn't budge. Just kept staring.

The spotlight turned on. Ever closer, only a few rows away from where Tim stood on the top level.

The spotlight turned off. Tim struggled harder, grunting and gasping, not minding the pain. Not minding the blood that coated his wrist and hands. Not minding the sound of his blood dripping to the floor. (Besides, it was drowned out by the sound of Tim's ragged breathing, anyway.)

The spotlight turned on. On the balcony next to him. Tim froze and looked to his right to see the clown, resting on the railing, crumpled. But now Tim could make out every stroke of makeup, every contour, every line. The clown's eyes gazed back at him filled with malice and glee.

Tim turned back to his wrist, giving it a desperate tug. He heard the snap of bone before he felt it, and couldn't help the cry that escaped his lips, and searing pain shot up his arm, but the stone gave way, clattering to the ground. His chest tightened as he stumbled back, cradling his hand to his chest. His vision blurred. He felt his stomach roll.

Gasping, trying to keep back the bile in his throat, he quickly turned to look at the clown. It was mid-reach.

Adrenaline shot through him, blocking out the pain. His vision snapped into focus. Instinct took over and he turned and ran back the way he'd come.

Disoriented, adrenaline wearing off, Tim burst through the doors of the opera house. The cool air was a welcome relief. The human patrons waiting just outside were not.

He barreled straight through them, just barely registering they were there. Nonetheless, they weren't expecting him and didn't move out of the way quick enough.

Tim crashed into one of them, jostling his broken wrist. Pain so intense shot through his body, his vision went white and he collapsed onto the pavement. The patrons gathered around in concern. The person Tim had crashed into kneeled next to him, asking if he was alright. But Tim was fading fast.

"Someone phone an ambulance!"

When Tim awoke he was sore all over. The most present soreness was in his throat and his wrist. His head pounded, his eyelids felt heavy, and it hurt to breathe. When he finally managed to keep his eyes open and they adjusted to the fluorescent lights above, he realized he was in the hospital. On his left was a nurse, checking his monitor and his IV line.

He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak, his voice a thin rasp as he tried to ask, "Where…" and ended up trailing off, even that single word too much.

"You're at Saint Thomas Hospital," she said. "Would you like some water?"

Tim nodded, closing his eyes, letting them rest away from the fluorescents for a moment. When he heard footsteps approach, he opened his eyes again, sighing. She smiled and held the cup out. She'd been thoughtful enough to put a straw in the cup.

"Mind your hand, dear," she said as Tim moved to reach for the cup. Tim glanced down at his left wrist to see a cast. That explained why his wrist ached. He laid it back down on the bed and reached for the cup with his right hand.

It shook as he reached up to take the cup from her. His bed was already inclined, so he didn't have to shift to sit up. He was secretly glad he had enough grip strength to hold the cup and take small sips of water. His throat felt a little better after.

"Nasty break," the nurse commented as he took small sip after small sip. "Clean breaks are better, though. Easier to fix." Her expression tightened and her breathing quickened. Tim could tell she was hiding something from him but he was too tired and sore to ask what.

The nurse took his empty cup when he was done and set it on the side-table.

She turned back to Tim and said in a soft voice, "We noticed you…didn't put anyone down in your emergency contacts, now that you're awake, is there anyone you'd like to phone?"

Tim didn't even have to think. He lifted his right hand toward the nurse and asked, "Can I borrow your phone?" His voice was still raspy (and he spoke slowly like he had to think about every word) but stronger now.

The nurse nodded and pulled out her phone, unlocking it before handing it over to him. Tim squinted at the screen as he typed in Sasha's number. They hadn't spoken for…wow, had it really been years already?

They hadn't spoken in years—you know how sometimes you just grow apart from someone?—but he'd had her number memorized by heart. He hoped she'd even remember him, it'd been so long. ~~He hoped this was still her number.~~

As the phone rang, he looked over at the nurse.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, Lesere Saraki," she whispered.

"Thank you, Ms. Saraki," he said.

"Oh, just Lesere is fine."

Tim smiled as Sasha's voice came over the receiver, " _Hello?_ "

"Sash," Tim rasped, then swallowed hard. "Sash, it's me. It's Tim. Tim Stoker."

" _Tim? Oh, it's so good to hear from you!_ " Sasha laughed, sounding breathless. " _It's been so long. Did you get a new number?_ "

"No, I…are you still in London?"

" _Yeah, I'm…I got a job at_ … _well, I got a job recently doing research. It's a bit shitty right now, and I'm kind of hoping to be moved to a different department, but that's a tangent. Is…is something wrong?_ "

Tim swallowed hard again. "I'm at Saint Thomas Hospital. I…didn't have an emergency contact."

" _Are you okay?_ " she asked, her tone immediately concerned." _I'll be over as soon as possible._ " Tim heard things shuffling around on her end of the line.

"You don't…it's late, Sash," he tried.

" _Don't start. I'm coming over,_ " Sasha interrupted. " _Get some rest. I'll be there when you wake up._ "

And, indeed, she was.

When Tim cracked his eyes open, she was sitting in a chair at his bedside, reading an old parapsychology textbook. She looked up when she saw he was awake and set her textbook aside, smiling. Tim smiled automatically in response.

Sasha stood and moved closer, sitting on the edge of his bed and taking his good hand. "It's good to see you, again."

"It's good to see you, too, Sash," Tim replied, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

Sasha's eyes flickered over him, eyebrows furrowing in concern. She lowered her voice as she asked, "What happened?"

Tim shook his head. "I—" Then it came rushing back to him. He saw the gruesome theater, the stone audience, Danny…

"Tim!" Sasha exclaimed as his hand gripped hers and he stiffened, eyes flooding with tears. She shifted closer to him, letting go of his hand but taking his head between both of her hands and pressing her forehead to his. "Hey, I'm right here. You're okay. I'm here. I'm here."

Tim let out a choked sob, reaching up to put his hands over hers.

"Dan…Danny," he managed.

Sasha pulled away to look at him. "Your brother?"

Tim nodded. "He…he—my little brother…" He broke off, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh, Tim, I'm so sorry," Sasha whispered. She pulled him into a hug and he threw his arms around her (careful with his broken wrist), holding her tight, burying his face in her shoulder. "I've got you," she whispered as sobs wracked his body. "I've got you."

14.  
 _who will keep every secret_

Tim's nightmares were getting worse.

All he really remembered when he was awake was Danny and that _clown_. He always woke with a start, sometimes alongside a yelp, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in his chest. His wrist ached.

He was still staying with Sasha. It had only been about a week since the incident. He'd tried to insist that he could stay at his flat again but Sasha saw right through him and said he could stay with her as long as he liked. Sky didn't seem to mind, though it didn't seem like Sasha was close with Sky, just that they cohabitated.

Still, he'd insisted he could sleep on the sofa or buy a lilo (he'd chosen this option). It sat in Sasha's bedroom. Even though Sasha insisted it was no trouble, he deflated it in the morning and folded everything up, storing it in her closet. At night, he'd inflate it and lay down all the sheets, blankets, and the duvet.

Saturday, Tim woke up the second time that morning and went into the kitchen. Sasha sat at the small dining table with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in her hands. Her eyes were half-lidded, a little glazed over. Tim felt guilt stab him in the gut.

He shuffled into the kitchen and sat down opposite of her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Sasha shrugged and shook her head but said nothing as she took a sip of her coffee.

Tim swallowed hard and braced himself. It wasn't like he didn't trust Sasha with what happened, it was more so that he was still trying to process everything that had happened. Still grieving for his brother. While he wanted to turn into himself, he realized it wasn't doing anybody any good.

Maybe verbalizing what had happened would take some of the weight off of him. Not that he necessarily wanted to put it on Sasha, either. But they'd taken each other's burdens before.

"Can I…" Tim started. Sasha blinked and focused her gaze on Tim. "Can I tell you what-what happened?"

Sasha set her mug down and gave him a small smile. "Of course."

Tim took a deep breath, wringing the hem of his shirt with his good hand, eyes darting around the kitchen. It was slow-going but, eventually, the words came to him. They were broken and painful but Sasha was patient and said nothing until Tim finally looked up at her, tears brimming his eyes.

They stood at the same time and moved toward each other like magnets, their arms wrapping around each other tightly. Tim buried his head in Sasha's shoulder and Sasha rubbed his back soothingly.

"Thank you for telling me," she whispered in his ear.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, telling Sasha had helped tremendously. When he startled awake that night, it took him a moment to realize it wasn't because of his dreams this time.

Tim sat up.

"Sasha?" he asked quietly into the darkness.

"…'m okay," Sasha mumbled.

Tim shifted, reaching up to turn on a lamp on her bedside table. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the lamplight with his hand until they adjusted. Then he craned his neck to see Sasha curled up in a ball on her bed, her back facing him.

Without even thinking about it, Tim threw the duvet off him and stood, carefully climbing onto the bed, leaving plenty of room between himself and Sasha.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" he asked.

Sasha turned to look at him over her shoulder. They gazed at each other silently for a long moment before she sighed and slowly sat up, shifting to face Tim fully. She kept her gaze low and hugged one of her pillows to her chest, thinking.

She reached out and gingerly pressed her fingertips to Tim's fingertips of his healing wrist. Her other hand came over and rested gently on the top of the cast. Finally, she looked up at Tim.

"Did the doctor tell you what happened? After you arrived at the hospital?" she asked.

Tim shook his head, not liking where this was going. "No, but the nurse knew something. I was too scared to ask and then I forgot about it after you showed up."

Sasha nodded then looked down at his hand again, eyebrows furrowing, lips turning down into a deep frown. She exhaled sharply.

"They said you nicked your radial artery when you broke your wrist," she told him. She pulled the hand that rested on top of Tim's back and hugged her pillow tighter, burying half of her face in the pillow, glaring, teary-eyed at Tim's wrist.

Tim waited, unconsciously holding his breath.

"They said you died," Sasha finally murmured into her pillow. If Tim hadn't been holding his breath or there had been any other noise in the room, he wouldn't have caught her words.

As it was, he had.

For a moment, it felt like the bed beneath him gave way. Sasha's voice brought him back, but only just. His vision swam and the world still felt like it was spinning.

"For four whole minutes," she said, pulling her face from her pillow, more tears filling her eyes, her voice now hoarse. She squeezed her pillow tighter and met Tim's eyes. "I…I almost lost you."

Tim didn't know what to say. To be quite honest, he felt a little shocked. They hadn't seen or even spoken to each other in _years_ and yet…being with Sasha now, it didn't even feel like years had gone by. They'd happened, of course, but it was like their friendship had just been paused and now they were simply picking up right where they left off.

Even if he had known what to say, any words would have just gotten caught in his throat.

Instead, he pulled her into him. She clutched him tightly, bunching up his shirt in her fists as her body shook with silent sobs.

15.  
 _save every letter_

Tim's flat was a decent size. Modest but certainly nicer than Sasha could afford. Had they been visiting in any other situation, Sasha would've made a comment about Tim's income. As it was, this visit wasn't normal. Tim hadn't been back to his flat since the night Danny had disappeared and, presumably, died.

Granted, it'd only been a few days. Still, that meant his memory was fresh.

Danny had gone to him that night. And Tim had tried—he'd _tried_ to take care of his little brother. ~~He should have tried harder.~~ But inside was the last night he'd seen his brother alive. Just standing at the threshold made his stomach churn.

"You don't have to come in if you don't want to, Tim," Sasha said gently, looking back at him from just inside the flat.

"No, I…" Tim looked down at the lip of the door. "I want to come in with you."

Sasha waited.

Tim continued to stare at the lip of the door, his heart racing. Swallowing hard and holding his breath, he stepped inside. Keeping his eyes on the ground, he took one step after another until he was standing in the sitting room. He finally looked up as Sasha closed the door. His eyes automatically flickered to his large armchair. The room dimmed and he saw Danny, tears in his eyes, streaks on his cheeks. The scene flickered and vanished, sunlight streaming through the window and onto the chair.

He turned his gaze to the sofa. The room dimmed again and he saw Danny, spread out, half-asleep.

_The show must go on._

The scene flickered again and the sofa was empty, the shafts of sunlight hitting the armchair, falling in a diagonal across the sofa. Dust motes floated around in them.

"Tim?" Sasha asked, coming to stand next to him, brushing Tim's hand with hers.

He looked up and over to his right, pointing. "The…the bedroom's that way," he mumbled.

Sasha gave him a concerned look but headed in that direction, down the hall. Tim silently followed, throwing a brief look back at the sitting room.

Sasha's invite for Tim to stay at her place was indefinite, (she had discussed this with Sky, as well), so they were getting him extra clothes and his toiletries; any items of his that might make him feel more at home.

While Tim went to grab a suitcase from his closet, Sasha stood back, giving him the space if he needed it. When Tim found his suitcase, tucked in the corner, nearly obscured by boxes and plastic storage containers, he brought it out and set it on the bed. He unzipped it and threw the top open but froze—jerked, really, like he'd been shocked.

A smile broke out on his face and he chuckled, reaching in and pulling out a medium-sized wooden box. Sasha crept closer, wondering what was inside. Tim looked up as she came over and his smile widened. Despite the bags under his eyes, how utterly exhausted he looked, his smile brightened the room. Sasha let out a mental sigh of relief.

Grief was complex; she wasn't expecting Tim to be his usual happy-go-lucky self for a while and had prepared herself for it. But it _was_ still nice to see him smile like that. It would be fleeting, like all things were. It was just nice to see it, to know this hadn't completely broken him.

Sasha couldn't help but smile in return. "What?" she asked, a small laugh escaping her lips.

Tim opened the box and showed her the contents inside as Sasha stepped closer. There were two bundles of letters, held together with twine. And at first, Sasha was confused, not exactly sure why these letters had made Tim so happy. Then she read the words scribbled on them, and when she saw her name and recognized the return address as hers, she understood.

Sasha elbowed Tim playfully. "You're a sap!"

Tim pretended to look offended as he closed the lid on the box and hugged it to his chest protectively. "These were special! You're telling me you didn't keep my letters to you?"

" _Of course_ I did," Sasha said before laughing as she continued, "But I didn't tie them up in twine and store them in a pretty wooden box."

Tim put a hand over his heart dramatically. "I'm hurt—"

"I tied mine up with a ribbon. And store them in a secret compartment in my jewelry box," Sasha continued.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, _really_."

Tim barked a laugh. "And _I'm_ the sappy one?"

Sasha stuck her tongue out at him but then smiled. Tim smiled back, shaking his head in exasperation.

Once Tim had finished packing and they'd gone back to Sasha's flat, they spent the rest of the day, spread out on Sasha's bed, doing dramatized readings of their letters to each other. Being a twentysomething had been quite the harrowing experience, after all. It was almost a requirement they match the tone when reading them to each other.

16.  
 _tell you how you really look_

When Tim emerged from Sasha's room the morning after he'd been released from the hospital it was 4 in the afternoon. He squinted in the light, had a terrible case of bedhead, and held his healing wrist to his chest.

Tim stumbled into the kitchen, since that was the first door he came too (aside from Sky's bedroom door, which was firmly shut).

Sasha took a sip of her tea as he entered, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.

"You look like hell," she deadpanned, setting her mug back down on the small kitchen table she sat at.

"Just got back," Tim replied, nearly falling into a chair.

Sasha chuckled as she pushed a plate of food in front of Tim, then a steaming mug of tea. She'd made a fry-up for him.

"Thank you," Tim said, a bit surprised, but picked up his fork and knife nonetheless.

"I figured you'd be hungry." Sasha shrugged and picked her own mug of tea back up.

"Yeah, I—" Tim began but was interrupted by the loud growl that came from his stomach. His face heated up and he glanced up at Sasha, who was trying to hide her smile behind one of her hands. Tim could see she was shaking with silent laughter. He averted his gaze and tucked into the food silently, hoping his stomach wouldn't growl like that again.

17.  
 _who will remember every single one of your birthdays_

Tim groaned, half-awake as something small kept prodding his arm.

"Sash," he mumbled, keeping his eyes closed. "Sasha what're you doing?"

She didn't answer, instead kept poking his arm.

Sighing, Tim cracked his eyes open. It was still dark in her bedroom but he could kind of see an outline of Sasha thanks to the streetlight coming in through her windows, diffused by curtains.

She was peeking over her bed, arm outstretched so she could poke him.

"What?" he whispered, still half-asleep.

Sasha lifted her head and grinned, "Happy Birthday, Tim!" she shout-whispered.

Tim looked at her in disbelief.

"What time is it?" he asked after a long pause.

"Twelve-oh-one in the morning," Sasha replied.

"You're ridiculous." Tim shook his head but a smile was pulling at his lips. "I-I'm going back to sleep." He rolled over onto his side, his back to Sasha. He listened to her bed squeak as she shifted, hearing her giggle as she settled into a comfortable position. Tim bit his lip, to keep his own little giggle from escaping his lips.

Sasha was up long before Tim, the next morning, practically vibrating with excitement but she let him sleep in as long as he wanted, since it _was_ his birthday, after all. Still, she couldn't sit still as she waited for him to emerge from the bedroom. When he finally ambled into the sitting room she went up to him with a bright smile.

"Get dressed," she said. "We're going out to celebrate."

Tim shook his head, giving her a fond half-smile before silently turning back around and going back into her bedroom to make himself presentable to the public. He emerged thirty minutes later, hair combed, teeth brushed, wearing jeans and a patterned shirt he only wore on his birthday: a cotton candy pink short-sleeved button-up with cotton candy blue sprinkles.

"Can I at least grab a quick snack?" he asked as Sasha came forward with his jacket.

"No, I'm taking you out for lunch," she said.

"Is it already that late?" Tim asked, shrugging on his jacket.

Sasha shrugged. "Like half-eleven. Close enough."

"You didn't wake me up earlier?"

"It's your birthday, Tim! You're allowed to sleep in."

Tim picked the restaurant, a Filipino place. Sasha couldn't help but smile and watch as Tim gradually relaxed. He was still getting used to being out and around people. He still had the occasional nightmare and his wrist was just on the tailend of being completely healed but the way he held it or rubbed it, she could tell it still ached.

This restaurant was a little out of the way but everyone employed there was also Filipino and spoke Tagalog. It was nice to see how easily he conversed with them. She picked out a few words every now and again. (When they'd first become friends, he'd started to teach her. During their time apart, she'd fallen out of the habit of practicing, unfortunately, seeing as Tim had been her primary practice partner.)

After they'd finished lunch, Sasha took Tim to the Natural History Museum in London. Expectedly, Tim's emotional reactions were a bit dimmed but Sasha didn't miss the twinkle of excitement in his eyes, revisiting what he'd studied all throughout uni.

"So, tell me about it," Sasha said when they stopped at the first exhibit.

Tim snorted, grinning. "What do you mean? There's a plaque right there." He gestured to it for good measure.

"Oh, but I want to hear what _you_ remember about it," Sasha mock-whined then got mock-serious and said, "Talk nerdy to me."

"Oh my god, Sash." Tim brought a hand to his forehead. "You did _not_ just say that."

Sasha ignored him and gave him puppy-dog eyes. "Please, Tim."

Tim held up his hand. "Okay, okay—"

"Yes!" Sasha celebrated. Tim glanced nervously at two patrons who passed him, giving them weird looks.

Tim stepped closer to Sasha. "You're gonna get us kicked out," he joked in a low voice.

Sasha linked her arm with Tim's and said, "My lips are sealed." She brought her free hand up to her lips and mimed zipping them.

Tim sighed fondly, a smile pulling at his lips and then started to tell Sasha what he remembered from his time in uni. They spent the rest of the day going around the museum with Tim giving Sasha her own, personal tour-guide walk-through narration, which was a lot more fun than a stuffy, monotone voice blandly reading off the plaques. Though there were times when Tim would make her laugh, which got them more weird looks. More than once, it caught the attention of other tour guides and security. (When that happened, Tim quickly ushered them away, into a different room.)

With each new exhibit, more and more of what Tim had learned in uni came rushing back to him, and the longer they stayed at any one exhibit, the more excited and animated Tim became. Sasha listened intently, a small, fond smile on her face as she watched him.

18.  
 _without checking Facebook_

Today was a special day.

First, Tim was going to visit the Brazilian bakery near his flat. He and Sasha had gone many times, so he knew exactly what her favorite sweet would be.

He arrived late afternoon, having placed his order first thing in the morning, giving them specific instructions. The place was bustling with customers already.

The workers there knew him by now and greeted him warmly (in Portuguese, which Tim had started to learn because of Sasha, so many years ago). They said it'd be just a moment longer, so Tim nodded and took a seat at one of the small tables to wait.

He watched as people went in and out, picking up orders or perusing the windows. He couldn't help but smile at the excited and wide-eyed gazes of children as they took in all the sweets, then turned those gazes to their parents in askance. Or the couples, who excitedly talked amongst themselves, trying to decide which sweet to treat themselves with.

"Tim Stoker!" one of the workers called.

Tim raised his hand and stood, going over to the counter to pay. Two boxes: a baker's dozen and a smaller box of eight of a traditional coconut confectionary in Latin America, called cocada. Now, there were many ways to make them but this bakery stuck to its more traditional roots, with its golden brown color and soft, chewy texture. They cut them into small rectangles, each held within its own thin, little cardboard package on five sides, leaving the top open to show the golden brown top and a small dollop of cream.

As Tim picked up the boxes, he couldn't help but overhear one of the kids in the bakery say, "I want what he's trying!"

He glanced over to see the kid was pointing to his two boxes.

The father quickly took his child's hand and said quietly, "It's rude to point at people. We can try that next time we come, okay?"

"I don't mind sharing," Tim said, smiling. "That's why I got two boxes."

The dad looked up, surprised. Then he frowned and started to shake his head. His kid tugged on his arm and said, " _Please_! Just this once?"

"I honestly don't mind," Tim reiterated.

Dad finally nodded, then looked at his kid. "Just this once," he repeated. His kid nodded dutifully as Tim carefully opened the top box and took out two pieces of the cocada, holding them out for the father.

"Thank you," the dad said, carefully taking both and handing one to his kid.

"Thanks, Mister!" the kid said happily before peeling away the sides of the thin cardboard package and chomping into the sweet.

"Of course." Tim smiled at the kid, then the dad, before leaving the shop.

His next stop was to a flower stand, where he bought a small bundle of yellow and mint-green roses. (It was all he could really afford.) While he'd been browsing, he didn't fail to notice the other person, also browsing the flowers, or that they kept glancing up at him, either. And he knew that look.

Although he had already paid for his flowers, he plucked a magenta tulip from one of the stands before taking two of the cocada from his smaller box, and went over to the person browsing and stealing glances up at him. He presented both the sweet and the flower to them.

"For you," he said with a smile.

The other person blushed and stuttered, "Th-thank you." before hesitantly reaching for the flower and dessert.

The florist cleared his throat and gave Tim a look. Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out his spare quid, brandishing it to the florist, who raised an eyebrow but his reprimanding expression dropped. Tim took two more cocada from the small box as he approached the florist, and set them down next to the quid for the magenta tulip.

He nodded at the florist and headed off to his final destination of the day.

It was an uncharacteristically nice day for London. The sun had actually decided to make an appearance. But, honestly, all the better for Tim. It meant he could enjoy his time outside for as long as he liked without fear of threatening rain. The sun also brought things back to life—breathed color back into a grey, overcast world. He hadn't seen a sunset in what felt like forever.

When he got to the spot, he carefully set down the small bundle of roses, then the baker's dozen box of cocada. Then he sat down himself, slowly, like the weight of the sky had lowered onto his shoulders.

"Happy Birthday, Sasha," he said quietly, gazing at the very small, in-ground headstone, partially framed by the flowers at the top and the box of cocada on the right side. It was engraved with a simple: Sasha James.

All he could afford. Not to mention, there wasn't a body to be found. But Tim still thought she deserved, at the very least, this to remember her by. Even if the "her" people remembered had been an imposter (and still was).

 _He_ knew the true her. That's all that mattered to him.

A hand reached over to grasp his left and Tim looked up—quickly blinking away the tears in his eyes—and over at Sasha.

In direct sunlight, she looked more like a ghost should: watery, transparent. As much as he was used to partially being able to physically interact with Sasha, it _was_ weird to see her so transparent, yet feel her hand, solid, in his.

"Thanks, Tim," Sasha replied quietly.

Tim squeezed Sasha's hand before he, reluctantly, pulled away and took the small box of cocada into his lap. He opened it up, revealing the last two golden-brown squares. He took one out and set it on top of the larger box, right in the middle. The last, he saved for himself.

He carefully lifted it out of the box, setting the now empty box aside, looked back at Sasha, and raised it in salutation. Sasha smiled and mimed raising a glass.

Tim finished the last cocada, looking out across the cemetery, as the sun set in the distance, with Sasha next to him, her hand resting on top of his.

19.  
 _I will always see you for the alley-oop_

All was quiet except for the sound of pencil on paper, in both of Tim and Sasha's classes (separate classes, separate rooms). That was until the door creaked open and a person from the administration office peeked their head in.

"Timothy Stoker."

"Sasha James."

The silence was further broken by whispers between classmates (in respective classrooms) as Tim and Sasha carefully packed away their things and followed the adult that had come to retrieve them.

The four of them convened outside the door to the administrative office. When Tim and Sasha saw each other, they both opened their mouths, taking in a breath to greet each other but before they could utter a single sound, Sasha was quickly ushered into the office. Tim was ushered in right after and then they were pulled to opposite sides of the administrative office, only having time to exchange a confused and disappointed look.

They were sat in the uncomfortable chairs administrative offices often but with padding that had been worn down with years of use, and no indication that they were going to be replaced any time soon.

Headmaster Chapman sat behind his desk, looking sternly upon the chair where students sat when being reprimanded (one at a time, in this case).

"Do you know why  
you're in trouble?"

Tim shook his  
head silently.

Sasha shook her head,  
pursing her lips.

"Are you sure  
about that?"

Tim nodded,  
trying to keep  
himself from smiling.

Sasha nodded.

The headmaster shifted in his chair and glanced at some papers on his desk.

"I got a complaint  
from one of our students  
that their locker  
was filled with…slugs.  
Another student  
reported that they saw _you_ ,  
walking away from the scene—"

"The scene of the crime?  
That's a little unoriginal."

"I think your witness  
was mistaken."

"They named you."

"How do you…"

"…know they're reliable?."

"I know you  
had something to do  
with it,  
but if you admit  
to it first,  
I'll lessen your punishment."

"You're asking me…"

"…to be a snitch?"

"Now, th-that's  
putting it  
a little harshly."

"You're asking me  
to rat on my friend!"

"You're asking me  
to betray my friend."

"So you do  
admit to it, then?"

Tim remained silent.

Sasha narrowed her eyes.

"You're going to  
get detention either way.  
If you tell me  
who planned it,  
then your time  
in detention will be shorter."

Tim sighed.  
"It was…"

"…me," Sasha said,  
sighing.

"No, that's not—"

Headmaster Chapman sighed heavily and hung his head for a long moment. Finally, he lifted his head, inhaling sharply.

"Tell me  
how you  
got the slugs."

"Well, there was  
this wardrobe,"  
Tim began.

"There was this  
bridge, you see,"  
Sasha started.

"And it led into a place  
that I was told  
was called Narnia."

"I named the place  
across the magic bridge,  
Terabithia."

"So I asked  
this satyr named  
Mr. Tumnus  
where I could  
find some slugs."

"And I came across  
these kind spirits,  
or sprites maybe?  
Who I asked to help  
me find slugs."

Headmaster Chapman took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before placing them back on his nose.

"You're only making  
this worse for yourself."

Tim held up his hands  
in surrender,  
"Okay, okay, I'll…"

"…tell you what  
really happened."  
Sasha lowered her hands.

"I found this bridge  
behind the school,  
in the woods,"  
Tim said.

"I found a wardrobe  
at the back of class,  
near our lockers,"  
Sasha said.

Headmaster Chapman held up his hand to stop them and sent them back to opposite corners of the administrative office before convening in his office again with the adults who'd brought them in.

"You're sure you kept them apart?" he asked them. They both nodded.

"They couldn't get in a single word edgewise," one said.

"We made sure of it," the other finished.

In the end, Tim and Sasha wound up in detention. They were both to write, "I will not put slugs inside my classmates' lockers." 100 times each on the chalkboard. In cursive. At least, after going through all that, Headmaster Chapman let them be with each other during this ordeal. He'd learned the hard way there was no point in separating them. Though, he did have two teachers keep an eye on them as they served out their punishment, to make sure they didn't get up to anything further.

Even then, they had found a way around _that_ in order to sneak snacks to each other. Well, one particular snack that Sasha's mother had made for the both of them: cocada. They were a relatively small, traditional Brazilian sweet, cake-like in nature, that tasted of coconut and had a soft, chewy texture. Sasha had individually wrapped them in wax paper that morning and then snuck several into her pockets before detention had begun. They spent half the time finding new ways to sneak those tasty treats under the less-than-watchful eye of their teachers.

20.  
 _I will always save you a seat_

When Tim got into work that day he was shocked to see Martin meticulously clearing away the items on Sasha's desk—putting them into a brown cardboard box. With NotSasha, obviously, they'd left her things there. Then after she'd been defeated (or killed, or whatever), they'd still left her things there. It hadn't really been a problem. It almost felt like a shrine to real Sasha, especially since Tim could see her ghost.

They didn't really talk (it would look a little weird, sure; that wasn't Tim's main concern) but if Sasha did want to, Tim would just put in a bluetooth earpiece and pretend to get a phone call.

Mostly it was just nice to have her there. To see her.

Though he found that it did nothing to quell his anger and hatred for the circus, for the _thing_ that had taken her life.

It did nothing to quell the misdirected hatred he felt toward the Magnus Institute and everyone inside it. As irrational as he knew that was, he couldn't help what he felt. And no amount of logic or rationalizations was going to make him stop feeling that way.

So once the shock subsided, his anger replaced it.

He threw down his bag at the foot of his chair, which was pushed into his desk. Martin startled and looked up from what he was doing as Tim approached him.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked harshly.

Martin blinked and took a step back. "What do you mean? I'm clearing off Sasha's"—Martin sucked in a sharp breath—"well, I guess _not_ Sasha's desk. Jon said there was no reason to keep it here."

Tim scoffed but gritted his teeth, trying to think through what he was doing to say next because he didn't want to reveal he'd been seeing Sasha's ghost for a year now. He didn't think they wouldn't believe him, he just _didn't want them to know_.

"So, what? You're just going to throw her stuff in the bin? Like it meant nothing?" Tim finally asked.

Martin's eyebrows furrowed, his lips pulling down. "You say that like-like this stuff is...is important or something—"

"Because it is!" Tim snapped. "These things belonged to Sasha! You can't just give it away or-or throw it all in the bin. It's _her_ stuff!"

"We can't even remember her!" Martin snapped. "I want to! _God_ , I want to. I hear her voice on those tapes and I close my eyes and try to picture, as hard as I can, what she looked like. But all I see is that imposter! And I would rather _not_ have a reminder of it every time I come into work or look up from my desk."

Tim floundered, trying to come up with a response. He glanced at Sasha, who was currently sitting on the edge of her desk, right behind Martin. Tim couldn't read her expression. She was clearly listening to the exchange but more in the way a casual observer would, not someone with stake in it.

"You didn't even ask me what _I_ think," Tim finally said looking at Martin again, his anger simmering. It still filled him to the brim with irrationality but his bleeding heart couldn't help but feel bad for what Martin and Jon were going through. Martin was right, of course, they couldn't remember what Sasha looked like. But Tim _could_. And that should have counted for something!

"I-it's safe to assume you feel the same way," Martin said.

"No, it's not."

Martin's eyes widened in surprise. "What?" Tim stepped back, shifting, irritated. "Tim…"

Tim stepped back toward Martin and reached into the box, pulling the items out and setting them up at Sasha's desk as he'd (accidentally) remembered.

"Look, if Jon has a problem with this, then he can come talk to me about it himself," Tim said as he continued to pull items from the box, avoiding Martin's gaze. "But I don't agree with the decision you guys made without me. You're just going to have to deal with it for a little while longer until we can come up with a compromise."

21.  
 _I will always pick you to be my partner, even though you are terrible at handball_

"Hey, Sash…" Valeria started slowly.

"Go ahead," Sasha said, recognizing that tone.

"Why do you invite Tim to trivia night?" Valeria asked, not one to beat around the bush once given the green light. "No offense, but he's a bit rubbish at it."

Sasha laughed. "Oh, I'm aware."

Valeria furrowed her brows. "Then why…?"

"It's good for him to get out," Sasha said easily. "It's been rough these past few weeks and we both agreed that doing something like this was relatively low key but would also get him out of the flat and back around people."

"Well, either way, he needs to get here soon," Brooke chimed in. "We can pick up the slack but there's a six-person minimum and I will be rightfully peeved if we can't participate because he was late."

"He'll show," Sasha said, not perturbed by how close Tim was cutting it or her friend's harsh tone.

"So what's the deal," Finley asked, leaning forward and resting their elbows on the table. "Is he, like, as the Americans say, your 'high school sweetheart'?"

"Nothing like that." Sasha chuckled but a fond expression crossed her face. "We met in primary school. He's my best friend. We fell out of touch but…" Sasha trailed off as her phone buzzed. A text from Tim: _here_. She looked up at the doors and continued, "We recently got back in touch and it's like that period didn't even happen. N-not in a way that _nothing_ happened, just in regards to our friendship."

Tim walked through the doors then, shoulders stiff, eyes darting around. Sasha waved to get his attention. When he spotted her, he relaxed a little. She smiled and gestured for him to come over. He smiled and waved back before beginning to carefully pick his way over to their table.

22.  
 _when the fire takes all you have  
my home will be your home_

"You should stay at my flat," Sasha insisted as Tim threw his jacket on and then winced. The cast certainly helped keep his wrist locked in one position but it was still sore whenever he tried to use his fingers. Anyway, the doctor had finally deemed him stable enough to be released.

"No, I-I couldn't impose on you on such short notice." Tim shook his head. He laughed; it sounded slightly hysterical. "We haven't even seen each other in _years_ , Sash. I-I…I don't want to cause you any trouble—"

"No trouble at all, Tim," Sasha interrupted. "I have a roommate, but they won't mind."

Tim made a face, still unsure.

"I have a spot on my bedroom floor with your name on it," Sasha joked.

Tim rolled his eyes but a smile pulled at his lips. "Sounds lovely," he responded dryly.

"I just…don't want you to be alone right now," Sasha said seriously. "And, I don't think you want to, either."

Sighing, Tim sat back down on the bed, contemplating. "You're _sure_ you don't mind? And you're sure your roommate won't mind, either?"

Sasha nodded. "Positive."

After a brief stop to pick up pain meds for Tim's arm, Tim met Sasha's roommate, Sky, who was Sasha's age but had started uni later, and had been looking for someone to room with, instead of staying on campus. Sky was quiet and polite. Their meeting was very brief as Sky also had a job they were heading off to just as Sasha and Tim had arrived.

Sasha let Tim lead what they did—watch telly, order take-away, watch a movie and pretend to be pompous critics. If he wanted to talk about what happened to Danny, she would wait for the right time. She had time to wait.

It was so easy for them to fall back into friendship, even though they'd grown apart over the years. It was _nice_ that they were able to. Tim had missed Sasha's company, her friendship. He realized he valued and cherished it over everything else, especially now that his brother was gone. He swore to himself he wasn't going to let this go so easily this time.

That night, after Sasha had settled into her bed and Tim in the sleeping bag and pile of blankets on the floor next to her bed, Sasha reached for her bedside lamp and said, "Goodnight, Tim."

Tim took a deep breath. "Goodnight, Sasha."

She noticed his hesitation. "Would you like me to keep a light on?"

"…no, I—"

Sasha gave him a look, stopping him in his tracks. "I don't mind."

"…then, yes. I…I think I'd like that. Thank you."

She smiled. "Of course." She left her lamp and laid back in her bed.

Tim closed his eyes and tried to sleep but his mind buzzed. Flashes of Danny and that clown danced across his eyelids.

He opened his eyes again, shifting restlessly underneath his blankets.

"Sasha," he said into the quiet of the room.

"Yeah, Tim?"

"…goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Tim let out a breath and tried to close his eyes again. But again, he saw his brother…or what was left of his brother. The clown. The stone audience. His eyes snapped open.

"Sasha?" he asked again.

"Hmm?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Tim tried once again—third time's the charm, right? But no dice. Was he falling asleep and having nightmares? Or was his mind just throwing that in his face to keep him awake forever? He saw the face of the stone patron who'd held him. He heard the spotlight turn on. He saw the crystal clear face of the clown. He heard his bone snap. Felt the pain shoot up his arm. His heart shot into his throat and he started awake.

"Sasha?" Tim asked for the third time, his tone laced with panic.

He heard her shift on her bed, sheets moving, mattress springs squeaking. Breath trembling, Tim looked up to see her looking at him over the side of the bed. She smiled softly at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and reached her hand out to him.

"Come lay with me," she suggested as Tim reached up with his good hand to take hers.

This time, Tim didn't pretend to protest. Wordlessly, he slipped out from underneath the sleeping bag and crawled in underneath her duvet. He _was_ hesitant on how close he got to her but didn't need to worry about that too much as Sasha pulled him closer.

He realized as he curled up next to her, resting his head underneath her chin, he was trembling. His body felt cold and Sasha's arms around him felt very warm. He instinctively snuggled closer, feeling his tense muscles start to relax. He cradled his healing wrist to his chest.

"Goodnight, Tim," Sasha whispered.

"Goodnight, Sash," Tim whispered back.

She fell asleep before he did but he fell asleep to the comforting sound of her soft breathing.

23.  
 _when you are old, and can no longer remember my face  
I will meet you for the first time  
again and again_

In the dream, he was in Artefact Storage at the Institute. It wasn't the most glamorous place. The lights were terrible, just to add to the mood. Certainly not how artefacts _should_ be stored…but they were different, weren't they? These artefacts.

Tim was standing in front of a table he remembered Jon had talked about. Something to do with a statement giver being replaced or other. Next to him stood a woman he didn't recognize. Strangely, she held a tape recorder. Like one of the ones Jon used to record statements and had stubbornly carried around during the Prentiss attack.

As was dream logic, suddenly he was the woman. Staring at the table made him dizzy. His vision blurred. Suddenly, to his right, he thought he heard movement. He jerked his head to look, his heart pounding in his chest, his breathing rapid and ragged.

He saw movement. Of a shadow maybe? Something? Some _one_ was down here with him. Another sound, getting closer. This time it was clearly footsteps. When whatever it was appeared, Tim's vision blurred so violently, he felt he might throw up. Beyond that, he heard the woman's scream pierce the air as he felt pain all over his body, like he was being torn apart. It wasn't just his body, the very fabric of his being felt like it was getting ripped out of this dimension. (Which wasn't something he'd ever thought about _having_ a specific feeling.)

Tim bolted up in his bed with a cry of his own. His heart was hammering so hard in his chest, he thought it might break free of his ribs. Blood roared in his ears but that woman's scream haunted his mind and he shivered. He'd always heard the term "blood-curdling" and never understood it. Until now.

Trembling, he reached over to turn on his bedside lamp, not wanting to be in the dark after a dream like that. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to shake off the effects of the dream. He rubbed his face a few times, to wake himself up. (There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep anyway.) Though, that had been a mistake, seeing as his wounds were still healing from where the worms had burrowed into his skin.

Finally getting his breath, at least, in check—his heart was still _pounding_ —he lifted his head.

And froze.

The woman from his dream was standing at the end of his bed. Not in any scary fashion. She looked normal. No wounds or hollow eyes. She dressed normally. No tears in her clothes or blood on them.

Still, it was strange that the woman he'd just dreamt about was now standing in his bedroom. Still hyped up on adrenaline, Tim jumped from his bed, stepping away from the woman, grabbing the closest thing to him, which was a book. Hardcover, so it might do _some_ damage, but it wasn't exactly a great choice as far as weapons went.

"Who are you?" Tim asked, holding his book in a way that indicated he was ready to swing if she got too close.

The woman smiled at him and he had a moment of pause at how sad it was. There was also recognition in her eyes that was making him uneasy. It wasn't just that she knew him, he could see _how much_ she knew him in just her expression alone. He could feel that she had known him for a lifetime.

_So why couldn't he remember ever seeing her?_

"It's me, Tim," she said softly, stepping around the bed and toward him. Tim took another step back, brandishing the book. "It's Sasha."

Tim blinked, his mind reeling. "H-how do you know my name? You—" He shook his head, picturing Sasha, and _this person_ was certainly _not_ Sasha. "You're _not_ —"

The woman stepped closer. "Because we've known each other since primary school," she said, her voice pleading. Her expression was devastated and Tim almost felt bad for her. "It's _Sasha_. _I'm_ Sasha. Not that other person you're thinking of. She's…she's not even human, Tim."

She took another step toward Tim and Tim swung the book at her, preparing to make a run for it if it dazed her enough. Except the book passed right through the woman like she was made of air. If he was seeing things correctly, she hadn't even shifted or changed. The book had simply gone right through her like she wasn't even there. Like she didn't even exist.

Tim dropped his book and stumbled back, into the wall. He leaned up against it, feeling his heart drop and the blood drain from his face so fast it made him dizzy. His knees felt weak.

"I-I…I m-must be dreaming, still," he mumbled, trying to blink away his blurry vision as the woman ventured closer, a look of concern now on her face. The sadness was back but it was in a different capacity than before.

"I promise you, you're not dreaming," she said as she came ever closer. Tim couldn't find it in him to move. If the book passed through her, that probably meant he could run right past her—right _through_ her, even—but he was too dazed. His legs wouldn't hold him if he tried.

The woman capitalized on his moment of pause and walked up to him, reaching for one of his hands, the one he'd broken so many years ago. It'd healed fine, but as with any severe injuries, he hadn't gained his full range of motion back and it ached during the fall and winter seasons. Or any time it rained, really.

As soon as her skin touched his, images flashed across his vision, of her and the Sasha she'd called an imposter. For some reason it gave him an instant migraine. The images flickered and flashed painfully across his vision, like they were fighting.

Instinctively, Tim pulled his hand away from the woman's, but he didn't have anywhere else to go.

"Tim, please," the woman whispered, her voice sounding close to tears as she grabbed his hand again, in both of hers.

The visions picked up, the images battling each other, making his head feel like it was being forcefully split open. Tim's knees buckled and he slid down to the floor, groaning and clutching at his head with his free hand, his eyes squeezed shut.

The woman kneeled down next to him, keeping her grip on his other hand, whispering to herself words Tim couldn't make out.

Tim wasn't sure how long those two visions fought. One trying to overtake the other. And when that didn't work, they began to split apart. He felt like they were ripping him in two. Tim let out a shout of pain as the two images finally separated in his mind.

It took him a moment to come down from the pain. For his mind to focus again as the pain slowly faded. His body tingled and his head felt like it might float right off his shoulders.

The woman—Sasha, _his_ Sasha, his best friend—was still kneeling next to him, holding his hand. Her grip had loosened some, and now she stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. Her smile was small and gentle but still sad.

Tim's chest heaved as he asked, breathlessly, "…you died?"

Before she could say anything in response, he reached for her with his free hand and felt a shock go through him when his hand passed right through her. Gasping, he looked at their still entwined hands and pulled away slightly, so he could lace their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze afterward, just to make sure he wasn't imagining things. Solid. Her hand in his left felt solid.

"Wh—" Tim tried, eyes going from their hands to Sasha's face confused and slightly panicked.

"There's so much you don't know about our world," Sasha said softly. Tim tried to control his breathing as he looked at Sasha, waiting. "Remember when you had that near-death experience with your arm?" Tim nodded, swallowing hard. "You had a brush with The End. The easiest way to describe it is that it's a manifestation of humans' fear of death. You know those monsters that only become real if a person thinks about them?" Tim nodded again. "That's a bit like what The End is."

Tim shifted, pressing his back against the cold wall, trying to ground himself; keeping hold of Sasha's hand.

"I…" He brought his free hand to his forehead, looking at a spot on the floor. "I was marked? By Death?"

He looked back at Sasha and she nodded.

"Here." Sasha pulled her hand from his, taking it in her other hand before gently trailing her fingers up Tim's hand and wrist, following the scar from his surgery. Her touch was cold and feather-light, sending chills up and down his spine. When she got to the end of his scar, her hand fell right through his arm.

Tim's arms erupted in gooseflesh and he felt chills shoot up his spine and encircle his head before dissipating. Instinctively, he pulled his hand away from Sasha's at the strange feeling and the startling vision of Sasha—who _looked_ like she was perfectly fine, _alive_ —of watching her hand go right through his arm.

When he realized what he'd done, though, wanting that physical contact with her, he quickly reached out and grabbed her hand again. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he shifted again, moving toward her, pulling his hand from hers and caressing her cheek. Sasha closed her eyes and put one of her hands over his, her other hand hovered at his wrist. Tim simply watched her, stroking her cheek gently, afraid if he blinked, she'd disappear.

Dead.

She was dead.

She had died.

His _best friend_ …had died.

Tim felt his eyes burn with hot tears. His thumb froze as a sob bubbled up in his throat but he swallowed it down.

"I'm sorry." His voice broke. "I'm so sorry."

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441920296632320/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

24.  
 _when Ellis Island tries to erase your past  
I will call you by your real name_

Sasha sat at the very top of one of the stacks—bare-bone metal shelves that contained boxes upon boxes, filled with folders of statements. She was perched on one of the boxes, on the very top shelf. She liked the bird's-eye view of their office space in the archives. That was a nice thing about being a ghost, she supposed: physics didn't really matter when you were dead.

There was something about watching them from above that tickled her. It was the little things. Not a lot of things were enjoyable for her these days.

Most especially the fact that Tim had to treat the NotThem like it was _her_.

It really shouldn't have bothered her so much. Tim knew that wasn't her—based on his glances up at her, he knew she was there—and _she_ knew that wasn't her. But it still bothered her! Hearing him call that _thing_ by her name, that thing that had _stolen everything_ from her: Her name. Her things. Her _life_.

With a huff, she hopped off her spot on the stacks and walked down the aisle, trying to put as much distance between herself and the NotThem. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't the least bit irritated with Tim, too. She _knew_ how unfair and irrational it was, she really did, but some small part of her was just a tiny bit irritated. It was most likely that her irritation stemmed from her overall situation and her mind needed something more solid to blame. (And irritation didn't feel like a right enough emotion toward the NotThem, righteous rage was closer, felt _better_.)

Though, to say Sasha _felt_ anything like she did when she was alive would be wrong. She could still feel emotions, of course, if the irritation buzzing in her chest was anything to go by, but feeling, _emotion_ , was different when dead. Sasha found she couldn't really hold onto strong emotions for long. When she felt something, even something as fervid as "righteous rage," it always felt like she was experiencing the memory of an emotion, rather than the emotion itself.

Time also didn't work right when dead.

Sasha wasn't sure how much time had passed before she heard Tim's voice softly call out, "Sash?"

She looked up to see Tim peeking out from behind the shelves like the entrance to the aisle was a door. She gave him a small smile but was unsure what to say. "I'm fine" didn't sound right because, well, she wasn't really _fine_ , was she?

Tim straightened up, glancing around, and entered the aisle slowly, reading her mood immediately. He sucked in a breath and asked, "Do you want to talk about it?" as he approached her.

Sasha crossed her arms and shook her head. "No, i-it's stupid." Tim waited. Sasha exhaled sharply. "I-I'm irritated." she said, pausing to try and find a way to word it in a slightly more delicate way. She shifted from foot-to-foot, body angled away from Tim, eyes downcast. "I don't like it, okay! I _hate_ that _thing_. I _hate_ you interacting with that thing. I hate that _you_ have to interact with that thing. I hate that there isn't anything we can do—!" Sasha paused again and frowned. Despite being dead, her eyes felt puffy but no ghost tears fell. It was more like the memory of tears were so strong, her body was mimicking the feeling of it when alive.

"I hate that you call her Sasha," Sasha finally muttered, focusing intently on a spot on the floor, ceasing her fidgeting, her shoulders slumping.

"Sasha James."

Sasha's head automatically jerked up and she turned to look at Tim, who gazed back with a semi-intense expression. Her arms, still crossed over her chest, loosened as he reached up and gently cupped her cheek with his left hand before stepping closer to her, never breaking eye-contact. Sasha turned to fully face him, reaching up with one of her hands to gently place over Tim's.

Tim smiled softly and bowed his head, as if to rest his forehead against hers. "The one and only, unforgettable, Sasha James."

Sasha felt that pressure in her eyes, like she was about to cry again, and her throat closed. A dry sob broke through her lips and she reached up to place her other hand on Tim's wrist.

Her breath stuttered, as if she _was_ crying, and she just managed to choke out, "Thank you, Tim."

25.  
 _they could tell you what a miracle this is_  
 _they could tell you how rare this is_

Tim never thought he'd get used to the way life was now.

He had been sure of two things: 1) he was sure his anger at everything—his boss, his job, the Institute, his _situation_ —would fade, and 2) he was sure being able to see the ghost of his dead friend would never stop being surreal.

Yet, as the days, weeks, months passed he felt his anger only deepen, _change_. It morphed and shifted, _mutated_ , alongside his other feelings. As his thoughts and other emotions changed, so too, did his anger, like how the sun refracting through glass, shifted as the world turned.

At the same time, after properly grieving for Sasha, he found it amazingly easy for seeing her ghost to feel… _normal_. And after a few more months, he found he was _grateful_. It could have been grief. It could have been trauma. It could have been some kind of reaction to being stuck at the Institute. It could have been any number of things. But he found he felt lucky to be able to see Sasha's ghost, to be able to talk to her, and interact with her.

 _No one_ remembered the real her. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Melanie remembered her. Would Tim really call it that, though? She knew NotSasha had been an imposter but hadn't been lucky enough to recall real Sasha clearly enough to know what she even looked like. Listening to Melanie struggle to simply describe Sasha made Tim realize he could have easily gone through the rest of his life thinking that _other_ her was the real her. But he had somehow gotten lucky enough to be reminded who the _real_ Sasha was. Not just reminded, but able to see her every day—even if the circumstances surrounding it were incredibly sad and, decidedly, unfair.

26.  
 _but they could tell you how rare friendship always is_

Tim and Sasha were far too nervous about introducing their respective partners to each other than they should've been. Sasha glanced around the pub, tapping her pint with her fingernails. She and Divya had gotten a booth, and were now waiting for Tim and his partner, Latif, to arrive.

"I don't think I've seen you this nervous before," Divya commented with an amused chuckle. "You certainly weren't this nervous when you introduced me to your parents."

Sasha continued to chew on her lip and tap her glass before her brain had fully processed Divya had said something to her. Her head whipped around and she said, "Huh? What? Oh! He's my best friend."

Divya smiled fondly at Sasha and said, "He's very important to you."

Sasha nodded. "I _really_ hope he likes you."

"I _really_ hope she likes you," Tim said as he and Latif walked to the pub they were going to meet Sasha and her partner, Divya.

It was a cold December evening in London. Tim and Latif walked close, their hands clasped together, stuffed into Latif's jacket pocket.

Latif laughed, squeezing Tim's hand. "You're more nervous than I've ever seen you before."

Tim squeezed Latif's hand back and smiled, looking over at him. "She's my best friend."

"You two are close," Latif observed, a small, fond smile spreading across his lips.

Tim's voice was soft as he said, "Very."

When Tim and Latif entered the pub, Sasha started so hard it made Divya jump. Sasha threw her hand in the air and waved to get their attention. When Tim spotted them, he waved back before he and Latif began to make their way over.

The introductions went how introductions usually go: a little awkward. But after a pint or two and some food, they began to relax and enjoy the evening, getting to know one another. The next round of drinks, Tim and Sasha both offered to grab their partners' drinks, alongside their own, so they could convene.

They leaned close at the bar, waiting for the bartender to fill up their glasses.

"Latif is an absolute sweetheart," Sasha said. "Definitely a keeper."

Tim nodded solemnly. "I thought so, too." Sasha snorted and playfully shoved Tim, who's face broke into a grin before, "And I think Divya's wicked sharp. Definitely want to hold onto her."

The bartender handed Sasha their drinks. She thanked him and as she and Tim gathered them up, she said, "So, we'll move just-us game night to Mondays and invite them to trivia night on Fridays?"

"Sounds like a plan," Tim agreed. "And then maybe schedule some scattered double-date game nights every few weeks or so."

"You think Divya's gonna be able to distract me from whooping your ass at _Super Smash Brothers_?"

Tim laughed. "One can hope!"

Joke was on Tim, however, because Divya was a quick learner and ruthless when it came to _Super Smash Brothers_. The boys got their revenge with _Mario Kart_ , though, not to worry.

27.  
 _the chances are slim_

It was one of those painful facts of life where you think about an old friend, say to yourself, "Oh, I should get into contact with them," and then you never do because you get too busy or caught up in something else and completely forget. The worst part was when you were reminded of your friend again, and you think, "I should contact them soon." …and so on and so forth.

That's what happened quite a lot for both Tim and Sasha. Especially as they made new friends and, unintentionally, tried to replace the hole that the other had left when they'd both gone off to uni. It wasn't necessarily that they were trying to replace each other, it was more like they felt like something was missing in their lives and were trying, in vain, to fill that hole, not understanding what exactly it was that was missing.

Tim made his own group of friends easily and quickly. He had always been that type of person—someone people naturally gravitated to. He may not have considered all of them friends, per se, but everyone knew the name Timothy Stoker in the anthro department by his first year in uni. He had friends to hang out with, friends to study with, and a small circle of friends he felt close to. But he couldn't find anyone to fill that hole Sasha had left.

As bad as it sounded, he cycled through his small group of close friends, to see if he could make a connection like the one he had with Sasha. While he got on with all of them and even strengthened the bonds he'd formed with them, he never clicked with any of them like he'd clicked with Sasha.

Likewise, Sasha had made her own group of friends. It was smaller and closer-knit. That's not to say Tim _wasn't_ close to his smaller friend group, more like Sasha's friend group started out and remained small. She wasn't as naturally charismatic as Tim, so she had found people she could get along with, and stuck with them.

She, too, had cycled through them, for the lack of better words, trying to see if she could find someone to fill the hole Tim had left behind. Just like Tim, although she grew closer with her friends, and strengthened the bonds she had already formed with them, none of those bonds felt even close to what she'd had with Tim.

28.  
 _the cards are always stacked against you  
the odds are always low_

Tim jackknifed up in his bed with a shout. He flailed in the darkness, calling out Danny's name, asking.

He would get these nightmares occasionally. After Danny's death, he had them almost every night. As time went on, however, they had become uncommon. For obvious reasons, they didn't _completely_ stop. Nights like these, he would relive the events on the night Danny had died and wake with a start, wondering what he could have done that would've saved his little brother.

Tim continued to flail around in the dark, disoriented and half-awake. When his left hand smacked into someone else's he froze. They gripped his hand tightly in both of theirs.

"Tim," Sasha's voice rang out in the darkness.

"Sasha," Tim gasped.

"I'm here, Tim."

Chest heaving, Tim sat there, slowly waking up and getting his breathing back under control. When he finally felt calm enough to move, like he wasn't going to break into a million pieces if he did, he reached over with his right hand to turn on his bedside lamp.

Sasha was sitting on the edge of his bed, still gripping his hand in both of hers. When Tim finally met her eyes, she relaxed her grip on his hand, pulling back one hand but keeping her other in his. Tim reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead before sitting forward and exhaling sharply.

Sasha shifted closer, resting their clasped hands on the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tim pulled his knees to his chest, resting his free arm on his knees and his chin on his arm. He kept Sasha's hand in his but shifted so he could stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. He watched their hands as he did this.

"…I just wonder," Tim mumbled. He paused. Then sighed and stopped stroking the back of her hand. He looked up at her with an expression she couldn't quite read, keeping his chin resting on his arm.

"I wonder why I can see you," Tim started again, averting his gaze. "…but not Danny." He paused briefly again. "I…feel responsible for Danny's death. I should've been there for him _more_. I should've _done more_. Maybe he'd still be alive! I-I killed him, so why won't he haunt me?"

"Is that how you feel about me?" Sasha asked, her eyebrows furrowing as he cocked her head slightly to one side.

"I shouldn't have left you," Tim muttered, now glaring at a spot on the floor.

"Jane split us up, there wasn't a lot you could do," Sasha countered.

Tim sat up straighter, shaking his head. "Still, I-I should've tried harder to stay with you. Tried harder to _find_ you. Tried harder to help you, _somehow_ —"

Sasha squeezed Tim's hand harshly for a second, just to get his attention. Tim's head snapped up in surprise.

"You don't need to save me," Sasha said gently but firm.

Tim opened his mouth but paused before, "I know. But you're my friend. I'll always want to be there for you."

Sasha smiled ruefully. "I know."

Tim slumped again, looking back at their hands, then the scar on his wrist. "I wonder i-if I…have powers? Did getting marked by Death give me powers to _see_ the dead? Is it only people I'm close to? Is it only you?" Tim's grip tightened on Sasha's hand unexpectedly and he looked at her with an intense expression. "And then I'm afraid if I start asking those questions, _whatever_ is happening to me will be taken away, and that I'll lose you, too."

Tim reached out with his right hand, toward Sasha but it went right through her and he cursed, remembering he was only able to touch Sasha with his left hand. He shifted, so he was sitting closer to her, and took her hand more firmly in his.

"I'm lucky"—Tim scoffed bitterly—" _lucky_ ," he repeated. His eyes welled with tears and he looked away, sucking in a shaky breath. "Can't believe in this fucked up world, I can say I'm lucky to be able to see the ghost of my dead best friend."

Sasha smiled sadly and reached up with her free hand to gently brush her finger underneath Tim's eyes as a tear escaped. She kept her finger hovering just above his skin. She couldn't touch him anywhere but his hand, either, but he felt that touch like a soft brush of cold air.

"I understand," she said. "And I'm glad. Glad I was able to remind you of me. Glad I'm able to see you, too."

29.  
 _but I have seen the best of you_

"Next round of drinks on me!" Sasha exclaimed above the already cheering pub-goers, who then broke out into more cheers and celebration.

Sasha had given the winning answer in the most important trivia night at the pub just a moment before: the night they gave away a cash prize for the group that won the most points. (She had, of course, consulted with the rest of her group before giving away a chunk of the money like that; they would split the difference of what was left.) Since Sasha had given the winning answer, they were mostly celebrating her. When everyone had gotten their new round of drinks, they all raised their glasses and shouted, "Cheers!" at her.

She allowed her friends to congratulate her—with her trying to interject that it was a team effort, when she could—a little bit more before slipping outside to catch her breath. Tim noticed and, after making a quick visit to the bar, exited the pub, as well, with two new glasses in his hands.

Sasha automatically looked over her shoulder as the door swung open and she could hear the noise inside the pub grow louder before the door slammed shut again. She smiled at Tim as he went to stand next to her.

"Just needed a moment," she mumbled. "Got overwhelmed."

Tim shrugged. "They'll still be there when you decide to go back in." He held out one of the flutes of champagne. "For you."

Sasha grinned more earnestly and took the glass. "Thank you. But you know, I couldn't have done it without you."

"Ha! Are you just saying that to make me feel better about how rubbish I am at trivia?" He raised an eyebrow, giving her a crooked smile.

"I'm being serious," Sasha defended, gently shoving him with her elbow. "I was only able to answer correctly because of your infodumps on Smirke."

Tim blinked in surprise, then smiled and held up his glass for a toast. "To us, then."

Sasha held up her glass to his with a small _clink_ as the flutes met. "To us," she echoed.

30.  
 _and the worst of you_

" _Enough_ , Sasha!" Tim snapped, spinning around, his torchlight shining directly into her face. She didn't flinch. The light simply shone right through her, making her look transparent. More like an actual ghost.

They were in the tunnels underneath the Institute. The tunnels Tim had been using for weeks now, wanting to avoid his other coworkers so he could do what he needed on his own. It was clear that the others weren't going to be of much help, anyway. And he certainly didn't want to get into an argument with them. So it was best to avoid them altogether.

Now, Sasha had been by Tim's side, helping him as much as she reasonably could (which, honestly, wasn't a whole lot for obvious reasons) with his research into the Circus and the Unknowing. She wanted the circus taken down just as much as Tim. So it wasn't that Tim was ungrateful. And it wasn't that he was _actually_ upset with _her_.

It was more…sometimes his anger needed an outlet, Tim wasn't perfect, and Sasha happened to be the closest one there at the time.

"You might be dead but at least you're _free!_ " Tim shouted, gesturing wildly, torchlight flashing around.

Sasha felt a sharp pain in her chest—sharper than anything she'd felt since having died—and pressure in her eyes, like she was going to cry.

Tim continued, too caught up in his own anger to notice, "I'm fucking stuck here. I can't quit! I can't _leave_ without falling ill! Jon can't fire me! So I'm _stuck_ here! Tethered to this fucking Institute—with worms and strangers and that _fucking circus_ , and Elias just keeps wrangling in more people to torture. More people to _trap_. I can't _trust_ any of them and even if I could, why would I want to?

"Jon went mental after the Prentiss attack and now he's hardly even here anymore. Martin is so taken with Jon, he can't deign to care about anyone else. I don't know Melanie _or_ Basira _at all_. And Daisy's a fucking murderer who feels justified just because she's a cop!"

Sasha's hands fisted at her side and she glared at Tim. " _How dare you!_ " She snapped. The pressure behind her eyes was almost painful. She wished she could cry. Wished she could relieve some of that pressure. Wished her heart didn't hurt so much right now.

"I died _alone_ and _afraid_." Her voice was rough and wavered like she was trying to hold back tears. "Not knowing if any of you were safe, if any of you had managed to hold off Prentiss's worms before Elias finally set off the CO2 system. That _thing ripped_ my very being out of existence and filled the hole that was left. She stole my _things_ , my _friends_ , my _name_! My _life_! And you have the audacity to tell me _I'm_ the lucky one? How. _Fucking_. Dare you!"

Before Tim could respond, she vanished.

Tim felt the weight of his words, and hers, fall onto his shoulders.

"S-Sasha?" Tim called, regret replacing his anger, leaving him cold. He shone his torchlight around the tunnel. "Sasha!" He tried not to let the panic forming in his chest swell but the more he shone his light around, walking up and down the tunnel, without any sign Sasha was there, the worse it got. "I-I'm sorry." He tried, his breath short and ragged. The walls felt like they were closing in. "Please," he whispered as hot tears ran down his cheeks. "Please, Sasha, I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I—"

Tim clutched at his chest with a shaking hand, his knees giving out on him. He dropped his torch next to him as he leaned against the tunnel wall, trying, in vain, to catch his breath.

"Sasha…" Tim gasped into the darkness beyond his torchlight.

Still, not a single whisper came to indicate she was there. No sign, no sound.

Tim was alone in the tunnels.

31.  
 _and I choose both_

Tim jerked awake from restless sleep. He was currently on his side, curled into the fetal position. Sighing, without moving his head, he glanced around the room, freezing when he spotted Sasha. She was sitting at the end of his bed, on the same side he was lying on currently, and was looking out the window across from where she sat with a thousand yard stare, slightly hunched over, and hugging her middle.

"Sasha?" Tim asked quietly, afraid she might disappear again if he startled her. This, of course, was her right. But he'd be lying if he said the pain in his chest didn't lessen a little just seeing her. Guilt still ate at his stomach but at least he knew she was still there, that he was still able to see her.

When Sasha didn't answer, Tim slowly sat up, his breathing shallow. He shifted, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, mirroring her sitting position, except he had his arms at his sides, holding himself up. He kept his head bowed, staring at a spot on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Tim straightened up and looked over at Sasha.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I…I was angry and frustrated but I shouldn't have taken it out on you like I did; I was wrong to. And I was wrong to say, to even _think_ , that your situation is any better than mine."

Sasha kept her eyes on the window, her expression neutral.

Tim looked down at the floor again and sucked in a quiet breath to quell the rapidly expanding pain in his chest. It wasn't that he expected her to immediately forgive him. How could she? He had said truly horrible things to her.

That didn't mean her silence would hurt any less.

They sat there, in the silence and darkness until the sun began to peak above the horizon. They couldn't actually _see_ that part, but the light of the sun filtered through Tim's curtains enough to tell them the sun had begun to rise.

And it was as the first rays of the morning sun streamed into Tim's bedroom that Sasha slowly unwound one of her arms from her middle, moved her hand over to Tim's, and gently wrapped her pinky around his. Tim didn't move but peeked at their hands through the corners of his eyes, before slowly curling his own pinky around hers.

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442133755232256/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

32.  
 _I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save some for later_

Tim sighed heavily. "Sorry, Sash, this was supposed to be a nice surprise."

He and Sasha were currently stood outside, on the curb, in front of a very posh restaurant. Tim had dipped into some of his rainy-day funds to get the reservation but because of some cosmic mix-up, they weren't allowed in the restaurant because his reservation had been replaced with someone else's. (At least they had given him a refund.) They were celebrating the anniversary they'd met in primary school for the first time since reconnecting and Tim had wanted to go all out.

"All dressed up and nowhere to go," Sasha sighed jokingly, looking down at the skirt of her dress, mostly hidden beneath her dark blue overcoat. "But, you know what always cheers me up? Good food stuffed in fried dough."

Tim gave Sasha a confused look. She merely grinned and made a "follow me" gesture with her head before heading down the street. Tim chuckled and followed. A few blocks away from the restaurant was a food truck that sold potstickers, dumplings, and bao (a type of dumpling made with bread flour that were generally larger in size than dumplings).

So they ordered 6 potstickers, 6 dumplings, and 2 bao each along with mango sodas, sat in Tim's car, in their fanciest clothes, and blared Queen as they ate.

"Well, it's certainly not a three Michelin star restaurant—" Tim started as they finished up their meal.

"It's better," Sasha agreed, nodding. throwing the last piece of bao into her mouth.

Tim snorted but grinned. "Still, I'm sorry that happened. It would've been fun."

"Well, we still have the play," Sasha said.

They did not still have the play. Another cosmic mix-up. (Another refund.)

"We have the worst luck today, don't we," Tim said as they stood on the curb, outside the theater, looking around as they had when they'd been booted from the restaurant. Then Tim spotted a flyer for dance lessons a few blocks away.

He pointed toward the flyer, "Feel up for dancing? We're dressed for it."

Sasha read the flyer, raised an eyebrow, and said, in jest, "You think you can keep up?"

"I think I resent that," Tim responded in the same joking tone before holding out his arm. "M'lady."

Sasha rolled her eyes but grinned and took his arm. Together, they headed off to the address on the flier.

They were still a little overdressed for the occasion (but certainly not as overdressed as they had been, ordering food from a food truck and eating fried food in Tim's car). Even so, they were welcomed like they'd been going for months.

They were learning samba. Specifically, Samba de Gafieira, as Sasha had told him, which was different from ballroom samba. Tim picked it up quite well but he much preferred spinning Sasha because he knew how much Sasha liked watching the skirt of her dress fan out. (And Sasha, having grown up with her Brazilian culture, already knew the basics.)

They mostly goofed around, much to the instructor's annoyance, but stayed just enough on task that they weren't thrown out prematurely. They left stumbling and giggling like they were drunk, even though they hadn't drank anything alcoholic.

"You know what would round out this night?" Sasha asked as they made their way back to Tim's car, arms interlocked.

"Hmm?"

"Ice cream!" Sasha shouted, throwing her free arm up into the air.

Tim threw his head back and laughed. "After a workout like that, I could go for a sundae."

They split off so they could get into the car.

"Hmm, I think I'd like a banana split," Sasha said.

"An excellent choice," Tim said before ducking into the car.

"My choices are _always_ excellent," Sasha responded, as she slid into the passenger's side and shut the door.

They found a small little ice cream parlor off the beaten path (still overdressed). Tim got a sundae, like he said. And Sasha got her banana split. But they picked at each other's desserts enough it didn't _really_ matter in the end.

33.  
 _I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rains fall hard_

"Remember the time we met that billionaire jet-setter and he took us on a trip around the world for a day?" Tim asked.

Sasha half-snorted, half-laughed. "What?"

They were lying on Tim's bed, horizontally, so that their legs hung off one side. But they weren't lying in the same direction—they were lying in opposite directions, so their legs hung off opposite sides of the bed and their heads met in the middle.

Sasha had turned her head to look over at Tim, amused but confused at Tim's question.

"Yeah!" Tim exclaimed, also turning his head to look at Sasha. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. He _had_ just found out his best friend had died and was now haunting him as a ghost, not to mention the whole "being marked by Death" thing, but he could also tell that Sasha was still trying to wrap her head around _being_ dead and so, had taken it upon himself to try and help her feel a little better. "We met him outside a restaurant and managed to endear him to us enough, he let us join him for a short time."

"What are you on?" Sasha asked, incredulously.

"Remember? We went to Venice, Italy, then to Beijing, China, decided it'd be fun to go all the way over to Fortaleza, Brazil, and then finally flew back to London." Tim let out a big breath. "I'm exhausted just saying that sentence."

Sasha paused, turning her head so she could stare up at the ceiling. Her brow was furrowed, mouth in a deep frown as she thought. Tim waited patiently.

"Oh!" Sasha gasped when the lightbulb lit up. She looked over at Tim again. "Are you talking about the night we had the _worst_ luck and had to improvise the rest of our evening? When we celebrated the anniversary we met?"

"Yep, and we traveled around the world with a mysterious billionaire."

Sasha shook her head in amusement but smiled nonetheless.

"I'm afraid I don't quite recall what you do," Sasha said, catching on quickly, "mind regaling me of our 'round the world trip?"

Tim grinned back and continued. (His plan was working.) "Of course! We were going to a posh restaurant but they made a mistake and kicked us out. While we were trying to decide what to do, Richard—Richie, for short—"

"Ha! Seriously?" Sasha reached over to playfully swat Tim as she said, "You seriously—" but broke off when her hand went right through Tim. They both stiffened and Sasha looked away and sat up, taking a deep, shaky breath. Tim quickly sat up and made his way around his bed to sit next to her, on her right, so he could take her hand.

"Sorry, I just…" Sasha sighed and shook her head.

Tim gently squeezed her hand. "It's okay. You don't need to explain yourself."

Sasha squeezed Tim's hand back and looked up at him with a small smile. "So, tell me about our time with this swish billionaire."

Tim returned her small smile before continuing, "So Richie had just got thrown out, too, right? And as he was yelling at the establishment and the patrons heading in, I used my famous Timothy Stoker charm to complain with him. It worked so well, he invited us to join him on his private jet to Italy, where we could get 'real and authentic Italian food.' Which he yelled at the restaurant.

"So, we got to Italy and were searching for a restaurant but you said…" Tim trailed off and looked at Sasha expectantly.

"…I said," Sasha started waveringly, "'Y-you know what, Richie, I'm actually still so angry about the restaurant kicking my friend's reservation, I've been totally put off from Italian. But I have just the place we can go!'"

"So off to Beijing we went!" Tim picked the story back up as Sasha laughed. "We only ate dumplings and bao, but who doesn't love food wrapped in fried dough, right?"

Sasha squeezed Tim's hand. "Hey, you stole my line!" she gasped in mock audacity.

"My apologies," Tim half-bowed and gestured to Sasha, prompting her.

"Richie made fun of us for only ordering dumplings," Sasha continued, "but I said, 'there's nothing better than food wrapped in fried dough.' and that shut him up right quick."

Tim laughed. "Only you could shut a billionaire up."

"Of course." Sasha grinned.

Tim continued with the story, "Then Richie wanted to learn how to samba and what better place than Brazil?"

Sasha snickered. "Alright, I admit it, he's got _some_ taste."

"But only some," Tim agreed. "So we hopped into his jet and flew off to Brazil! The in-flight treatment was _amazing_. The food was better than anything we would've gotten at the restaurant that threw us out and the seats were more comfortable than my bed. Then we learned how to samba in Fortaleza." Tim sighed wistfully. "Finally, we flew back to London and got some ice cream to celebrate."

Sasha shook her head but she was grinning from ear-to-ear. They lapsed into a small silence, lying back down on the bed, keeping their hands entwined.

Sasha sighed. "That was a great night.''

"You really enjoyed it?" Tim asked, looking over at Sasha.

Sasha looked at Tim. "You didn't?"

"Of course I did!" Tim said quickly. "I just thought you'd be…disappointed with how everything turned out." He shrugged.

"I mean, I was disappointed at first, but the night really did turn out to be really fun," Sasha said. "I'm kind of glad we weren't able to do what we planned, honestly."

Tim smiled. "Me too."

34.  
 _friend  
I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself_

Ever since Tim had talked with Jon about The Unknowing and taking the Circus down, Tim had become a man possessed. Possessed with plans to blow up the House of Wax. Possessed with how he was going to take down anything and everything he could once the Unknowing began. Possessed with the idea of revenge—for Danny _and_ Sasha.

So much so that he had begun to spiral and neglect his needs like food and sleep, only subsisting on coffee and energy drinks.

"Tim, _please_ ," Sasha insisted at 3 in the morning the third day after Jon confronted Tim in the tunnels and they finally talked long enough to pool their knowledge. "You've been up for seventy-two hours now. You _need_ to sleep."

"I— _no_ , I—" Tim broke off and shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee but finding his mug empty. He quickly went into his tiny kitchen to get a refill, only to find the coffee pot empty as well. With a growl, he turned toward his fridge. Before he could take a step toward it, however, Sasha appeared before him.

"Tim, please listen to me," she tried. Tim sidestepped her (though he didn't need to) and began to reach for the fridge's handle. With one last desperate attempt, Sasha spun around and grabbed his left hand and squeezed it as hard as she could.

"Sasha!" Tim exclaimed, trying to jerk his hand from her grasp but Sasha merely took his hand into both of hers.

"Tim," she pleaded, meeting his tired, blood-shot eyes. "You _can't_ run yourself ragged. I want this just as much as you do. But you _need_ to take care of yourself if you're going to help the others stop the Unknowing." She reached up with one of her hands and caressed his cheek—well, let her hand rest as close to his cheek as she could without going through him. "You can't do that if you don't take care of yourself."

Sasha lowered her hand from his face but kept her other hand in his.

Tim stared at her, swaying slightly like he was going to pass out at any moment (which, he most likely was). But finally, as his brain processed her words, he nodded slowly.

"Okay," he whispered.

Sasha sighed in relief. Tim gave her hand a small squeeze before letting go and stumbling over to his sofa, falling onto it and just barely managing to throw the blanket hanging on the back haphazardly over himself before he was completely out.

Sasha moved to sit on the edge of the sofa, turned toward him. She watched his chest rise and fall for a few moments before looking at his face, free of worry, free of that anger that only seemed to grow day by day, free of pain.

Pressure built behind Sasha's eyes and her throat closed up, like she was going to cry, and without thinking, she reached up to gently brush some hair from Tim's forehead. Instead of her hand going right through his hair, she felt it against her fingers as she pushed it from his face.

Sasha jerked her hand back, feeling like she'd just been shocked, and sucked in a sharp breath. She held up her now-shaking hand, turning it over, wondering what was different. Her eyes flickered back to Tim's chest to make sure he was still breathing. He was.

Then why had she been able to touch him somewhere other than his left hand?

35.  
 _I want to be the air in your lungs that reminds you to breathe easy_

When Sasha didn't show up at Tim's locker at the end of the school day, he went to look for her. It had been a…well, "tradition" sounded too formal and "thing" sounded too casual. Either way, they would meet each other at designated spots at the end of the day and exit the school together. It was just something nice, though small, because they liked to chat until they were picked up. Or, as they grew older, chat the small walk it took for them to get outside before going their separate ways.

Yes, even through secondary school and into Year 12, they kept that tradition. In fact it was even more important to them now because they wanted to spend as much time together before going off to uni. As much as they had wanted and tried, they were going to have to part ways if they wanted to follow their interests.

The first place Tim went to look for Sasha, obviously, was her locker. He waited a few minutes before going to where her last class was held. At first glance, the classroom looked empty, but something made Tim linger and when he scanned the room again, he spotted Sasha's school bag sitting in her chair. Focusing in, he saw Sasha's figure, sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the chair.

"Sasha!" he called, rushing to her side. He dropped his bag as he fell to his knees in front of her. She was sitting, with her legs half folded underneath her and flapping her hands but her breaths were panicked and shallow. Tears streamed down her face.

When she finally realized Tim was there, one of her shaking hands reached out to him but only made it about half-way.

"T-Ti-Tim—" she stuttered, gasps filling the moments between. "Ti-T-Tim—"

"Hey, it's okay," Tim whispered quickly. "I'm right here." He began to reach for her hands but paused and asked, "May I take your hands?"

Sasha nodded rapidly. "Y-ye-yes."

Tim gently took Sasha's hands into hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. A moment later, because Sasha seemed to be processing certain stimuli slower, she gripped his hands to the point of pain.

"I-I-I c-can't br-breathe," Sasha gasped, pulling Tim closer. She let out a sob. "The wa-walls are-are c-closing i-in." Her eyes flitted around the room as more tears rolled down her cheeks. "M-my throat—"

"Hey, hey," Tim said softly, bringing Sasha's attention back to him. "I'm right here. You're okay. You're going to be okay. I've got you. I've got you, Sash."

Sasha's grip on his hands only got worse and so did her stuttered gasping.

Tim moved closer, never breaking eye contact.

"Why don't you try and breathe with me okay," he suggested. "You don't have to take deep breaths, just try and inhale when I do, okay?"

Sasha nodded jerkily.

"Okay." Tim took a deep breath in, gently squeezing Sasha's hands as he did so. Sasha tried to inhale with him but it was ragged, small, and broken. "It's okay," Tim encouraged. "Just try to keep inhaling when I do. It doesn't have to be every time if you're having trouble catching your breath, okay?"

Tim continued to lead Sasha through the exercise, pausing every now and again to give her words of encouragement. And eventually, she stopped gasping. Soon after, she could take almost as deep breaths as Tim's. Her tears had stopped falling so rapidly, though they still fell.

Once she had gotten her breathing back under control, she loosened her grip on Tim's hands (but didn't let go) and slumped where she sat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tim asked, after giving her a moment to recoup.

"I'm scared, Tim," Sasha whispered. "That I'm not good enough. To get into uni. To get a degree. What if I can't keep up? What if I fail out? I—" She broke off and shook her head, her tears coming faster again.

"You are the most brilliant and hard-working person I know, Sash," Tim assured. "Any university would be lucky to have you. You're going to do great. I _know_ it."

Sasha sniffled but managed a watery smile. "Thanks, Tim," she whispered before pulling him into a hug.

Tim held her close. "Always, Sasha."

36.  
 _when the walls come down_

Everything was wrong.

It was like Tim had been thrust into the fourth dimension. But the fourth dimension that was a little to the left.

He could see sound and taste color. But the sound looked wrong, off somehow. And the colors hurt his mouth. It felt like his tongue was burning and his jaw ached. He was standing on solid ground but the ground was not solid. There weren't walls but they shifted oddly around him. The music swirled around him and he swatted at it. His head was spinning so much he was surprised he was still standing upright. At least, he thought he was.

He didn't even know his own name.

There were three things he was sure of: the hate he felt for everything and everyone around him, the weight of the axe in his hand, and the fact that he felt like something—no, some _one_ —was missing.

One of _them_ was standing next to him. Or was she? He couldn't tell. He didn't care.

37.  
 _when the thunder rumbles_

He let his rage guide him, swinging at anyone and anything that came close to him. It was the only thing that gave him clarity. As clear as things could be in this…in wherever this was. Even with the clarity he did have, the place fought against it. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. His head felt like it was going to explode.

Tim continued to fight. And kill.

  
He couldn't pinpoint when exactly he lost the axe, but it didn't really matter.

Hate fueled him. Adrenaline took away the pain.

The one he attacked next deflected. The first one to do so. And in doing so, he was shoved right into the path of someone he was pretty sure he knew but hated just the same.

"Wait, Tim!" the man shouted. "What do you see?"

Tim responded without even thinking about it, "My asshole boss!" That gave him pause and made the pain in his head worse as the man in front of him snapped into focus. His grip loosened but he didn't let go. "Or-or…wait…wait."

Tim stepped back and let go of Jon.

"Spoilsport," Nikola complained, bringing Tim's attention to her. The several hers, who all wore the different skin of her victims.

"Tim," one of the other Nikola's called.

Tim ignored her, zeroing in on the mannequin dressed as a ringmaster. The image of that crumpled clown with the twisted neck and crazed eyes flashed across his vision.

" _Grimaldi_ ," Tim growled.

"Once." Nikola didn't sound amused. "A long time ago, before Orsinov made me. And sometimes, even now, for special occasions." Tim could hear the smile as she spoke her next words, "Like your brother." Her voice changed again, remnants of Danny's voice just barely coming through as she asked, " _Shall I?_ "

Tim's hands curled into fists and he realized he was holding something in his right.

"Tim, what's in your hand?" Jon asked.

Tim lifted the device to get a better look at it. He knew what it was but his mind, this place, wasn't going to give him the answer so easily. "It's…" He struggled. "I don't…" He fought. "The detonator."

"That's quite enough from _you_ , I think," Nikola said waving her hand in Jon's direction. He vanished with a cry. Nikola turned back to Tim. "And now _you_."

Tim brandished the detonator, laying his thumb over the red button. "Go on, I'll race you. See if you can do it again before I can squeeze."

"It's too late." one of the other Nikolas said.

"The world is ours!" Nikola added. "That _toy_ won't help you now."

"So come and take it," Tim challenged. When none of the Nikolas moved Tim scoffed. "That's what I thought."

" _I am losing my patience,_ " Nikola seethed. The other Nikolas started to move toward him but he waved the detonator.

"Back!" he shouted. "Get back." He began to press the button and the other Nikolas froze before slowly backing away. "That's right." When he was sure they weren't going to ambush him, he let pressure off the button and said, "Jon, I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can…then I don't forgive you. But thank you for this."

38.  
 _when nobody else is home_

When Sasha first appeared before him, he thought it was just another one of Nikola's sick tricks. Just another way to mess with his mind in this already messed-up place. But it didn't take long for him to notice she was the clearest thing he'd seen since The Unknowing had begun. Even clearer than when he'd recognized Jon as Jon.

"Sash," Tim gasped.

By its very nature, his surroundings fought his clarity, trying to blur the lines between reality and non-reality.

Tim groaned and gripped his head with his free hand, his other hand tightening around the detonator.

"Tim," Sasha said, her voice as clear as the bells of Notre Dame. Not distorted. Not morphed or changed or _strange_.

Tim, clenching his teeth, tried to straighten up. The place around him had gotten worse—it twisted and blurred and spun. Throughout all this, Sasha remained constant as she approached him. A cool rage burned in her eyes but her expression was almost serene-looking. The word, "finality" popped into Tim's head.

39. _  
hold my hand_

When they stood only inches apart, Sasha reached down to take Tim's hand in both of hers—the one that held the detonator. He watched as she did this in shock, at first, then realization, then acceptance.

The place that surrounded him continued to collapse and twist but Tim relaxed. The Stranger pulled back in retreat as The End expanded within him, with each breath he took.

With each breath he took, Sasha became clearer and clearer as their surroundings tried to implode, blurred so violently it would've left anyone else with severe vertigo.

Slowly, Tim reached up with his other hand and put it over Sasha's.

40.  
 _and I promise_

In the back of his mind, Tim could hear Nikola's voice. But it was far away. Inconsequential.

He kept his gaze locked with Sasha's.

"It's time," she said. Her hands tightened their grip on his hand, and she laid one of her thumbs on the detonator button.

Tim's own grip tightened as he laid his thumb over Sasha's. He nodded.

Together, they pressed the button.

_I won't let go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was an absolute _beast_ to work on. but also an absolute blast. i'm already excited to participate in the next one, next year! (crossing my fingers i'll be able to a;ljsl;kdjf)
> 
> once again, the masterlist is at the top--it'll take you tumblr, where you can reblog! links to tumblr posts for art _are_ the images themselves; they'll also take you to tumblr, where you can reblog!
> 
> now y'all should definitely go give some love to the rest of the pieces in the next chapter! :D
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed! Comments are much appreciated! ^_^
> 
> Thank you for reading,  
> TheBrightestNight


	2. art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the rest of the art! please give them some love!
> 
> i know it's in the story note, but **reminder:** the images are the links, and image IDs should be in alt text

**Fic Playlist (Cai)**

**Fic Moodboard (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442490038272001/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Sasha Moodboard (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442556548497408/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Tim Moodboard (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442620021850112/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 4 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441051942567936/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Tim and Sasha Meet Backstage at a talent show (Luci)**

[ ](https://lucifers-favorite-sweater.tumblr.com/post/636441257759080449/spinning-round-like-two-sides-of-a-coin)

**Vignette 8 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441226464444416/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 8 Quote Edit Deux (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441147192049664/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 13 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441588089995264/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 13 Quote Edit Deux (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441307399798784/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 14 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441665906819072/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 15 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441729495613440/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 18 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441794865987584/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Interlude: Go check out the first part of Eben's comic he drew for Vignette 19[HERE](https://ebenrosetaylor.tumblr.com/post/636441308304736256/here-is-the-first-page-of-my-comic-for)**

**Vignette 22 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636441862978306048/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Tim Dreams of Real Sasha (Moss) -- Coming soon!**

**Vignette 23 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442893052182528/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 30 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442409811787776/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)

**Vignette 36 Quote Edit (Cai)**

[ ](https://bisexualoftheblade.tumblr.com/post/636442285404569600/here-is-one-of-my-pieces-for)


End file.
